


Dreams of water and sand

by s_a_b_i_n_e



Series: Destiel Oneshots (smut-free) [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Getting Together, Heaven, M/M, Post-Canon, Retrospective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_a_b_i_n_e/pseuds/s_a_b_i_n_e
Summary: Dean watches out over the lake. He isn't even sure if it holds any fishes that might bite, but sitting here on the wooden boardwalk, a fishing rod lazily in his hand, just like in his dream all those years ago, he doesn't care. It's not his purposetoday, whatever meaning this word might hold in heaven.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel Oneshots (smut-free) [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022302
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	Dreams of water and sand

Dean watches out over the lake. He isn't even sure if it holds any fishes that might bite, but sitting here on the wooden boardwalk, a fishing rod lazily in his hand, just like in his dream all those years ago, he doesn't care. It's not his purpose _today_ , whatever meaning this word might hold in heaven.

Time is strange here. It's running fast, but everything seems to be slowed down at the same time. Maybe that's just what eternity feels like.

Dean wonders how it must have been for Castiel to be pulled out of his millennia, from humanity nonetheless, a blink of an eye for a celestial being like him. 

Dean bites his lip. He never really understood him back then, not even as little as he did at the end. He called him for bullshit reasons, always complaining that the angel didn't make him his priority.

He still cringes thinking about it. Castiel's people were fighting for their existence and he just ...

There is no use in self-deprecation after all this time. No use in deconstructing himself over things he can never make right again. This wasn't the last time that he didn't listen, that he didn’t ask for Castiel's motives, didn't tell him that he needed him as more as a tool to whatever mission Dean was set on.

Sure, he called him family, even brother. But it was all a lie. At least if you count omission as lying. He should have said something before the Empty took him. He should have said something when he found him in purgatory. 

There are many, many regrets that Dean collected in his too short, yet eventful life. But when he was dying and all the words he needed Sammy to hear before he was gone were said, in his last second there was nothing worse than that he didn't say it back. That Cass had died never hearing these words from him. Not even disguised as brotherly love.

"I'm so sorry, Dean. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be," Castiel says, suddenly standing next to him.

Dean doesn't even flinch. He waited for him here, prayed for him to come. A small part of him doubted that he would.

He watches the angel from the corner of his eye. His tie is crooked as always, his trademark trenchcoat pushed back just like the suit jacket as Castiel has his hands in the pockets of his pants.

A light breeze works through his messy hair. Dean wants to know what it feels like to run his hand through it, wants to see the smile that he imagines to elicit by it.

"I always knew that I would go out swinging, Cass," Dean tries to comfort him and isn't that the strangest thing? Shouldn't the angel be happy that he is here, in the heaven he specifically built for him?

"No," Castiel insists, voice even and sure, "you should have lived a long, happy life, should have had a house with a garden and a swing, a beautiful wife, and green-eyed kids that smile as you do."

Dean turns his head to look at him properly, the confusion forging deep lines into his features. "Do you really think that's what I was dreaming of?"

Castiel still looks out at the lake, hands clearly fists in his trouser pockets.

"What were you dreaming of?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper above the soft wind blowing waves over the water surface.

Dean chuckles. He knows it's silly, but he owes Castiel the truth. After all these years of not being open, of omitting and fogging the truth, of keeping him in the dark, he deserves to know.

"This. I dreamt about this. You and me, sitting on this boardwalk. Me holding the rod in one hand and your hand in the other. You with one of those silly fishing hats. Just sharing the peaceful surroundings and nature's sounds."

He stops talking for a moment, waiting for the angel to fill the silence. Dean turns his face up and to the side, studying the lines scattered around the angel's eyes, the straight line of the bridge of his nose, his eyelashes so beautiful in the afternoon-ish sun. He wants to brush his thumb over the everlasting scruff on Castiel's jaw, wants to kiss these chapped lips until they are wet and glistening.

He needs to look away again. It's too much. He had never allowed himself to look at him this closely and now all the details that make Castiel his Cass are overwhelming.

But maybe it's too late. Maybe now back in full grace, Castiel doesn't feel for him what he felt back on earth, slowly turning more human, losing his essence to become a smaller version that was just content in being useful to the Winchester's.

A sudden pain works its way to Dean's heart, clenches it harder than death's hold on it on that fateful day.

 _I love you_ , Castiel had said then and every bit of solid ground inside of Dean had crumbled away. Truths that he held as his own for decades. That he wasn't good enough, not worthy of unconditional love, only useful in the roles he assigned to himself or let others assign to him: son, brother, friend, the ladies' man, Michael's sword, father.

All that fell away and in the ashes that remained, for the long minutes that he sat on the cold floor after Castiel was gone, there was only one role left, one he couldn't ever allow himself to carry out of the bunker: Dean, the man who was loved by an angel and worthy of being loved. It was tangible and yet fleeting.

How could he hold on to this role that he just received? How could he build on it when the person who assigned it to him wasn't there anymore to fill it, to reinforce it, push it into his stubborn head and doubtful heart until he would finally believe?

Yes, Dean had denied the role that Chuck had assigned to him, rejected it still under the influence of Castiel's words. But he didn't truly believe them. Not yet. Maybe one day he would have if he had stayed alive long enough.

But now he is here and the old fear of not being good enough for a literal angel is back in full swing.

 _There'll be peace when you are done_. Dean wants to call bullshit on the line, but then he realises that it's just his old pattern of dealing with things: assuming - not asking, pushing his feelings down - not making himself vulnerable.

"What about you, Cass? What were you dreaming of?"

He dares to look at the angel and the small smile he sees playing on his lips is so worth the swarm of butterflies that nearly make him dizzy.

"You, Sam, Eileen, Jack, and I on the beach, our feet in hot sand, the waves crashing against the shore in a neverending dance. Me putting sunscreen on your face and you complaining about it. Cold beer in a cooler, your head in my ...," he trails off.

Dean smiles. "My head in your lap, the cowboy hat on your messy hair, salt on our skin from taking a swim."

Castiel moves his head in one smooth motion and fixes his eyes on Dean's for the first time. "That would have been nice," he murmurs.

Dean nods lightly. "We could still have this," Dean whispers, "if you wanted to that is."

Castiel's face lights up and _damn it_ , Dean is flashed by the beauty of it, pulled under in a current of light and love.

He swallows hard, not trusting his legs to carry his non-existent weight. He's still not used to being like this either, so he doesn't trust himself to not fall into the lake while trying to take this step.

So he reaches out and takes Castiel's hand instead, pulling softly until the angel understands.

Cass kneels next to him and Dean can finally touch. All those places he wasn't allowed to. No, scratch that. That he didn’t allow himself to touch. They are there, right in front of him. So he brushes his thumb over Castiel's stubble with his free hand, runs it over his lips and the bow of his cheekbone, sighs contently when Cass leans into his hand and closes his beautiful eyes, relishing in the moment.

This. This is so much more real than anything Dean shared with anyone in the physical world. This is real. This is good. Dean Winchester is finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. 💙 Let me know what you think. 💚


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